The Best Birthday Present
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] Gohan's fifth birthday falls during the time when he's training with Piccolo in the wilderness. Does Piccolo care? And is he even capable of doing so?


Disclaimer : "A-B-C-D-E-F-G, I do not own DBZ..."  (Hey, that actually rhymed!  ) 

**The Best Birthday Present **

The sun crept over an arid, barren landscape, turning the grey sand into a vibrant golden brown.  In half an hour the desert would be boiling with the heat, but for now the atmosphere was warm and almost pleasant.  

The rays shone on the recumbent form of a sleeping boy, who was curled up in a little ball beside the remains of a campfire.  The boy blinked a few times, revealing wide, inquisitive black eyes, and sat up, stretching his arms as high as they would go.  He yawned noisily and rubbed his eyes, still not fully awake.  

Gohan Son tugged at his tattered training gi, pulling at the rumpled and torn fabric in an attempt to straighten it.  He liked this suit better than the pants and surcoat he'd worn at home -- this one was more comfortable, and it allowed him more freedom of movement.  But the best part about it was the emblem on the back; the sigil of Piccolo, Gohan's trainer.  

Gohan finally blinked away the last of the gumminess at the corners of his eyelids and glanced over at the large, domineering figure who was resting a few feet away.  Piccolo sat cross-legged, arms folded across his chest, head tilted downwards and eyes closed, hovering just high enough above ground that his billowing white cape did not touch the dust.  He appeared to be asleep, but Gohan knew from experience and more than one attempted prank that the green-skinned creature did not sleep.  

Life was funny -- when Gohan first arrived here, the sight of Piccolo looming over him had scared what little wits he possessed and sent them scampering for cover.  Now, after almost a year of living in this place, including four months of intensive, one-on-one training with Piccolo, the sight of him had become commonplace.  

The green skin and large, pointed ears no longer seemed strange -- indeed, Gohan hardly noticed them anymore.  Piccolo's fangs and claws, of which Gohan had had nightmares during his first month in the wilderness, had now become objects of envy for the boy.  Even the perpetual scowl Piccolo wore and his gruff, angry voice were just pieces of the puzzle.  Piccolo was Piccolo, not the terrifying monster he had seemed in the beginning.  

Gohan picked up his sword from where it lay in the hard-packed sand, and he strapped it to his back.  The weapon was a gift from Piccolo -- at least, Gohan assumed it was.  It, along with Gohan's training suit, had just appeared one morning and Gohan couldn't think of any other way they could've gotten there.  But however it came to be in Gohan's possession, the sword was now (in his opinion) the best thing he owned.  

As the sword belt snapped into place, so something clicked in Gohan's mind.  Today was his birthday!  In all the training and fighting to survive in this harsh, unforgiving land, Gohan had completely forgotten that today he turned five years old!  

Gohan grinned, and he took a running jump, landing on Piccolo's back.  "Guess what, Mister Piccolo?"   

"Get off me."  

"Not until you guess what," Gohan insisted, bouncing up and down on Piccolo's shoulders.  He was too excited to be put off by Piccolo's harsh tone -- besides, he knew the gruffness was just one of Piccolo's personality quirks, and one Gohan didn't pay much attention to, at that.  

"Get.  Off.  Me."  Piccolo repeated, more forcefully this time.  He reached back and grabbed Gohan's arm, prying the boy off and holding him at arm's length.  "It's too early in the morning to die, kid," Piccolo warned.  "I suggest you take it easy."  

Gohan knew perfectly well that Piccolo would never kill him, and he also anticipated what was coming next.  When Piccolo's fist lashed out as expected, Gohan dodged it and sent a kick of his own at Piccolo's head.  Surprisingly, Gohan's boot connected; Gohan watched with glee as Piccolo rubbed his jaw.  

"Good," Piccolo admitted, an expression on his face that was as close to a smile as he ever got.  He let go of Gohan's wrist, and the boy dropped to the ground.  "You have improved, my boy."  

Skipping from foot to foot, Gohan exclaimed, "Since I got a good kick in, will you guess?"   

Piccolo's mouth twitched, and he got to his feet.  "I suppose.  What is it?"   

Gohan pretended to pout.  "You're supposed to guess, Mister Piccolo."  

"Child, I don't have time for this infantile behaviour," Piccolo scolded.  

"I'm not being infantile, and I'm not a child!  " Gohan's lower lip trembled.  "I'm five years old, and it's my birthday today.  Not like you care, or anything," he swiped at his eyes, and for the first time in months he began to cry.  "I fight and train my hardest for you, and you're always so mean to me.  You can't even be nice on my birthday!  Daddy and Mom were going to take me fishing, and go on a picnic to celebrate, and I wanna' go home.  I don't wanna' stay here anymore, but I have to, so maybe you could just loosen up for one day, huh?"   Gohan's eyes were blazing, fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically.  

He completely expected to be smacked into a cliff for showing weakness and insolence, but he didn't care.  He'd thought for the past few weeks Piccolo had started to warm up to him, but apparently not.  

A rough hand came to rest on his head, and Gohan winced, waiting for the blow . . .  but it didn't come.  Instead, Piccolo patted him on the head awkwardly.  "Kid, I never said that.  You've done a good job," Piccolo glared.  "There's still a lot of improvement to be made, but you've come a long way."  

Gohan was so startled that he stopped crying.  Piccolo had a funny look on his face that Gohan had never seen on him before, and he bent down.  With the uncertainty of one not accustomed to such an action, Piccolo took a corner of his cape and used it to wipe the tears from Gohan's cheeks.  

A broad, grateful smile lit up Gohan's face, and he wrapped his arms around Piccolo's leg.  "I'm sorry I got mad," he apologized.  "You're not really mean."  

"Feh," Piccolo waved him away.  "Don't be sorry.  Anger makes you strong.  Now are you ready to fight me?"   

"Nooo," Gohan shook his head.  "Just a second," he tried to brush his hair out of his eyes, but his tears had soaked it and the tear-soaked strands were sticking to his face.  "I need scissors," he muttered.  

Piccolo reached out a hand and pushed a shock of hair off Gohan's forehead, pretending not to see the boy's smile.  "Your hair is getting long," he agreed, and Piccolo pulled off his turban.  Unravelling one end of it, Piccolo tore off a length of the white material, then tied it around Gohan's head to keep his hair back.  

Gohan touched his makeshift headband with a grin.  "Cool!  I can see again!  " 

"Good," Piccolo moved his hand as if to tousle Gohan's hair, then realized what he was doing and drew his arm back.  "Now are you ready?"   

"Yeah!  " 

The two began a vicious sparring match, and Gohan could tell right away that Piccolo was fighting extra hard, for whatever reason.  However, without his bangs obscuring his vision, Gohan was doing much better than usual.  He managed to evade many of Piccolo's blows, and even landed a few of his own.  Gohan was grinning widely as they sparred -- when he and Piccolo fought, it bridged the gap between them, creating what Gohan felt was a sense of brotherhood.  

It was mid-afternoon when Piccolo finally ordered a rest.  Gohan flopped to the ground thankfully, and he became aware of the not-so-caring ministrations of the desert sun that was beating down upon him mercilessly.  "It's too hot," the boy complained, and he glanced over at Piccolo, who was taking the time to meditate.  Gohan eyed Piccolo's white cape, then grinned mischievously.  Darting forward, Gohan hid beneath it.  

Piccolo's head snapped around, but couldn't see Gohan for the white fabric under which the boy was sitting.  "What are you doing?"   Piccolo demanded.  

"It's shady under here," Gohan explained.  "You don't mind, do you?"   

Piccolo started to say aomething, but his mouth quirked and he thought better of it.  "As soon as this fight with the Saiyajins is over with, you're getting your brain scanned.  There's something wrong with you."  

Gohan laughed, and he curled up in the shade for a quick nap.  

Piccolo felt Gohan's energy quiet down, and he turned around and flicked his cape off him.  The boy looked so peaceful when he was sleeping -- it was hard to imagine the destructive power lying beneath the innocent exterior, had Piccolo not brought out that power himself.  

_I fight and train my hardest for you, and you're always so mean to me.  _

_...it's my birthday.  Not like you care, or anything.  _

Piccolo's fist clenched, and he growled quietly.  Why did the boy's tear-filled eyes and shaking voice stab through his heart so?  Why was it thhat Piccolo hadn't thought twice about killing an entire stadium full of people, but he couldn't hurt Gohan's feelings without being so guilty?  

Strange.  Piccolo had expected these new feelings, these emotions, to be unwelcome, and at first they had been.  Now, though, Piccolo had almost gotten used to them.  "Feh . . ."  he muttered.  "Some warrior you are, Piccolo, getting turned into a bleeding heart by a little brat.  What'll be next, inviting Son Goku over for dinner after he's wished back to life?"   

Piccolo snorted.  "Not likely," he frowned to himself as a sudden through occurred to him.  After Son came back, he would take Gohan with him.  In all probability, Gohan's training would be abandoned, and he would revert to the state in which Piccolo had first found him.  Piccolo's lip curled in disgust.  What a waste.  

His eyes widened, and it felt like a rivulet of ice had run through his body, turning the blood in his veins to ice water.  Forget the training -- when Son came back, Gohan would be gone.  Gone.  Piccolo would never see him again -- never have to put up with the boy's incessant chatter, or deal with his stupid habit of running up to Piccolo and giving him hugs.  

_Not like you care or anything.  _

Piccolo covered Gohan with his cape, scrawled a quick, explanatory note in the sand with his fingernail, then took to the skies.  

A few minutes later, Gohan woke.  He stretched again, grimacing as his bruises stung from the movement.  Piccolo sure was a rough sparring partner . . .  The boy finally noticed the cape draped over his shoulders, and he frowned in puzzlement until he saw the message scratched on the ground.  

BE BACK SOON.  PRACTICE YOUR ENERGY BLASTS.  DON'T GOOF OFF.  

Gohan grinned.  "Goof off?  Me?"  he chuckled.  "Nahhhh..."  he donned Piccolo's cape, then stood with his arms crossed and legs planted shoulder-length apart, a ferocious scowl on his face.  "I am Piccolo," Gohan announced, trying to make his voice as deep as it would go.  "Otherwise known as your worst nightmare!  " 

The boy laughed to himself; this way he could practice his energy blasts and have fun at the same time!  

****** 

Piccolo flew back to the place where he'd left Gohan.  The first thing he saw was the small boy fairly drowning in Piccolo's own cape, sparring with an invisible opponent.  Piccolo "sat" in the air and watched Gohan silently.  

He appeared to be performing some sort of play, to an audience of two birds and a squirrel.  The boy kept jumping from spot to spot as he spoke, apparently switching characters.  

Crossed arms, scowling.  "I am Piccolo.  What do you want?"   

Jump.  "I'm a Saiyajin!  We're here to destroy you," now he was smirking arrogantly.  

Jump, and an evil grin.  "I don't think so.  Try again."  

Jump.  "Fine, then.  We'll take the boy."  

Jump.  Gohan now wore a terrified expression.  "NO!  Mister Piccolo, don't let them!  " 

Jump.  Back to the scowl.  "Gohan, don't be a baby."  

Jump.  "I'm not a baby!  But they're stronger than me.  I can sense it."  

Jump.  "You have to help me, Gohan.  We're partners."  

Piccolo raised his eyebrow ridges in surprise.  Partners?  

Jump.  "Hey!  " it was the Saiyajin again.  "Are we going to fight, or not?"   

Jump.  "Fine.  Let's fight!  " 

Gohan began practicing again, throwing energy blasts, punches, and kicks in all directions.  As he watched, Piccolo had to admit that Gohan had become quite advanced in his fighting skills.  

After about fifteen minutes Gohan fell to the ground, clutching his side and writhing in imaginary pain.  "Ohhh . . .  you have beaten me," he groaned.  "Darn you, you green monster and you stupid brat!  But I'm warning you -- I have friends in outer space.  They'll come and kill you!  " 

Gohan leapt to his feet and sneered at the spot where he had been.  "Shut up," he lifted a hand and blasted a huge crater into the ground.  

Jump.  "We did it, Mister Piccolo!  " he yelled ecstatically.  

Jump.  "Good job, Gohan.  I've trained you well."  

Jump.  "Yep!  And you know what?  You're my friend."  

Jump.  "Huh?"   

Jump.  "I said --" 

Jump.  "I heard what you said!  " Gohan started to glare, then stopped and made an action like he was patting someone on the head.  "You're a good kid . . .  just don't go all mushy on me or I'll blast you."  

A laugh escaped Piccolo before he had time to hold it in, and he decided it was time to interrupt.  He floated to the ground behind Gohan, who jumped and spun around.  His face was scarlet with embarrassment.  "My cape, please," Piccolo ordered.  

Gohan handed it over.  "How long were you watching?"   

Piccolo shrugged as he adjusted his cape back on his own shoulders.  "Long enough.  Let me tell you, Gohan -- you'd better stick to martial arts, not acting."  

The boy laughed and rubbed the back of his head.  "Yeah, I know I stink.  Where'd you go?"   

"You ask too many questions," Piccolo retorted.  "Just wait.  You'll see."  

"Huh?"   

"What did I just say?"   Piccolo pulled Gohan's headband over his eyes, tightening it so it wouldn't slip, then picked him up under one arm and flew into the air.  

Gohan yelped and tried to yank off his newly-acquired blindfold, but Piccolo slapped his hand down.  "I'm not even allowed to look?"   

"Not yet."  

Gohan sighed.  "Fine," he squirmed a little.  "You think you could carry me a little better?  This is really uncomfortable."  

"Whiny brat," Piccolo snapped at him, but Gohan knew he didn't really mean it that way.  Piccolo placed him on his shoulders, and Gohan held onto Piccolo's ears.  Piccolo grimaced, but didn't say anything.  

It was kind of scary, Gohan thought to himself, not being able to see.  Not only did the ride seem longer, it was frightening not knowing what was going on.  For all he knew, Piccolo could have a heart attack any time now and drop him.  

"You can fly.  What are you so worried about?"   

Gohan jumped.  "How did you know what I was thinking?"   

Piccolo's voice sounded surprised.  "Didn't you say anything?"   

"No."  

"Well," Piccolo seemed discomfited.  "Forget about it."  

Some time later -- Gohan had no idea how long -- Piccolo landed and set Gohan on his feet.  "Okay, brat."  

Gohan pushed the headband back up to his forehead and looked around, eyes nearly popping out of his head.  He was standing in ankle-high grass, with trees around him and a river in front.  Gohan shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun reflecting off the river's surface, and he could see the dim outline of fish swimming in the water.  

Gohan turned to Piccolo, eyes shining with excitement.  "Fishing?  Wow, Mister Piccolo!  " 

Piccolo pretended he didn't know what Gohan was talking about.  "What?  I didn't know there were fish here."  

"Thank you!  " Gohan flung his arms around Piccolo's waist and hugged him tightly.  "I take it back, you do care!  Thank you, Mister Piccolo . . .  thank you, thank you, thank you!  " 

Piccolo coughed uncomfortably, and he cautiously rested his hand on Gohan's head, ruffling his hair nervously like he expected Gohan to be insulted.  But Gohan just smiled and buried his face in Piccolo's shirt, because his eyes were watering and he didn't want Piccolo to know.  

Finally Piccolo shoved Gohan away.  "Are you going to fish, or not?"   

Gohan flew up and hugged Piccolo's neck, then ran into the river, stripping down to his boxers before diving in.  Piccolo gave a small smile as he watched Gohan swim, kicking his small legs and rivalling the very fish for proficiency in the water.  "Crazy kid."  

Fish after fish was thrown on the bank as Piccolo meditated, keeping one eye open to make sure Gohan was okay.  Finally Gohan surfaced, laughing.  "Okay, I'm done fishing," he announced, but Piccolo didn't reply.  

Gohan smirked and powered up a small ki blast, which he fired at the water.  The result was a splash aimed precisely so it drenched Piccolo.  "Ha hah!  !  Yesss!  " Gohan crowed, cackling hysterically.  "Whatcha' gonna' do about that?"   

A dripping Piccolo opened one eye, absolutely no expression on his face, and Gohan felt a sense of foreboding.  Suddenly Piccolo exerted his energy, and an enormous tidal wave rose up and crashed into Gohan.  The boy floundered in the churning waves, but before he could recover himself Gohan felt a hand grab his shirt and pull him out of the water.  

Gohan flared up his ki to dry off, sensing Piccolo was doing the same.  When Gohan's vision stopped blurring, he saw Piccolo had brought him up to eye level.  He was glowering, but Gohan thought he could detect a note of amusement there.  

"You are a horrible little brat, and I should kill you for that," Piccolo growled, but then he smirked, ever so slightly.  "But I should have seen it coming, so I suppose we're even.  Just cook your fish, will you?"   

Gohan grinned, and once Piccolo set him down, he built a fire and started to clean his catch.  

When Gohan had finished eating, he lay down on the bank and stared up into the sky, watching the clouds float past.  He glanced over at Piccolo.  "Come sit with me, sir?"   

Piccolo hesitated, then walked over to hover a few feet away from his young charge.  "No, sit with me," Gohan grabbed Piccolo's arm and pulled him down from the air.  Rather nervous and unsure why, Piccolo sat next to Gohan on the grass.  

Gohan pointed upwards, indicating the fluffy, white clouds.  "What do you think that looks like?"   

Piccolo frowned.  "A cloud."  

"No!  What is the cloud shaped like?"   

He concentrated for a few seconds, then gave up.  "They still look like clouds to me."  

Gohan sighed, a sound of infinite patience he had borrowed from his mother.  "PIC-colo!  It's a bunny!  See how that part looks like the ears, and that's the tail --" Gohan waved his hand.  "Never mind the bunny.  There -- that one looks like a turtle.  See?  And there's a tree, and --" 

"Your father," Piccolo cut in suddenly, startling Gohan.  "That one there looks like Son.  See his stupid hair?"   

Gohan squinted against the sun, then burst out laughing.  "I see it, I see it!  You're right!  " 

The unlikely pair whiled away a good half hour in this manner, and somewhere in that time Piccolo began questioning what was wrong with his brain.  The Saiyajins were coming in two months; he should be training at double the pace, not taking the day off!  

Yet, this boy . . .  the son of his lifelong nemesis . . .  he had done something to Piccolo -- something so strange that Piccolo didn't really mind relaxing for one afternoon.  It was bizarre, yet he no longer cared.  

"Hey . . .  hey, Mister Piccolo, are you awake?"   

Piccolo shook himself.  "Of course I'm awake," he snapped.  

Gohan shrugged and leaned on one elbow.  "Sorry, sir.  It was just a question."  

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to.  It defeats the entire purpose of asking questions, which is to gain new information," Piccolo glanced over at his student, who was laughing.  

"Yeah, I'm sorry again.  Hey, can I ask another one?  I don't know the answer this time."  

"Fine."  

Gohan cocked his head to one side.  "Mister Piccolo, sir, am I your friend?"   

Piccolo's eyebrow ridges skyrocketed.  "My friend?  You're my pupil, Gohan."  

"That isn't my question," Gohan protested.  "I'm serious."  

Piccolo started to brush him off, but Gohan's pleading gaze caused him to reconsider.  In the end, however, Piccolo's emotional defenses won out.  "Listen, kid, I'm a demon king.  I don't require friends."  

Gohan's small face fell, and for an unknown reason Piccolo felt like he had been punched in the gut.  "O.  Well, you're probably going to call me a whiny infant, but when I lived with Daddy and Mom, they were the only people I knew.  Them and Grandpa.  Parents don't count as friends -- so I guess I never had any.  Not until you came.  You're my friend."  

"What . . .  makes someone a friend?"   the question was out of Piccolo's mouth before he even realized what he was saying.  

"I'm not really sure.  I think a friend is somebody you want to be with, and you like talking to.  And someone who can take care of you, but also somebody you want to help yourself," Gohan's cheeks reddened, as though he'd been caught laying his entire inner self out on the line to dry.  "I, uh, I mean, that's what I think.  That's what . . .  what you are to me."  

Piccolo thought about it.  In the oddest way, he liked spending time with Gohan, and enjoyed talking with him, as well.  The boy was simple and honest -- Piccolo didn't feel like he had to pretend around him, or even act as heartless and revenge-driven as he did around Son.  As for the other two of Gohan's criteria?  Piccolo certainly felt like he had to protect the boy; no matter how strong he was, his mind was still soft and innocent.  Strange as it may seem, Piccolo didn't want to see Gohan poisoned, to have his bright smile disappear, to watch as life hardened him and tainted his pure heart.  I don't want him to turn out like me, Piccolo thought to himself.  Yes, he felt compelled to help Gohan.  And Gohan . . .  he had slowly begun to make Piccolo realize that the muscle in his chest did more than just pump purple blood.  

Piccolo blinked.  "Well, considering those guidelines, Gohan, you count as mine," he tried to say it in an offhand way, like it was no big deal.  

Gohab saw through that, and he smiled at him, eyes shining.  "Mister Piccolo . . ."  

"If you're thinking about hugging me, forget it," he warned.  "One hug a day is plenty."  

The boy's merry laughter filled the air, and Piccolo felt a warmth spread through him.  The gut-punched feeling had vanished.  

Gohan chattered on about nothing and everything for another hour, and Piccolo listened.  Finally, Gohan paused.  "Sir, do you have a birthday?"   

"Not in the sense that you're thinking," Piccolo replied, "I do not celebrate the day I came into being."  

"Why?"   

"I was 'born' as you say, with all my sire's memories," Piccolo's gaze turned to the skies, like he was thinking of something far, far away.  "If others knew them, perhaps they would not be so quick to judge."  

Gohan's forehead was furrowed in thought, and he looked up at his mentor -- and friend -- seriously.  "What kind of memories?"   

"Memories of killing.  Thousands of people.  Hundreds of thousands.  Killing, pain, anger . . .  and hatred.  Terrible hatred, especially towards your father," Piccolo closed his eyes as those memories threatened to overwhelm him, and he clenched his teeth.  he would not allow his past -- no, his sire's past -- to control his actions.  "I was born with only the burning desire to kill Son Goku."  

"Do you still want to?"   

"I don't . . .  think so," inwardly, Piccolo was wondering why he was telling the boy all of this, but deep inside him, he knew.  Gohan would not judge or condemn him -- he wouldn't demand anything of him, or even laugh.  This "brat," oddly enough, was the only being in the galaxy that Piccolo knew he could trust.  

"I killed him, when he sacrificed himself to let me destroy Radditsu," Piccolo continued, "But it didn't give me the satisfaction I thought it would.  I felt . . .  empty.  My whole life, built up to killing Son, and once I had done it," Piccolo frowned.  "It seemed so pointless.  He even died smiling."  

A knowing look spread across Gohan's face.  "Your . . .  Daddy . . .  wanted you to kill my Daddy?"   

He'd never really considered it that way before.  "I suppose."  

"Well?  You've done that.  You're free now!  " 

"What?"   

"Well, if your father wanted you to kill Daddy, and that's all you lived for, you're done!  You've killed him.  Your dad's life is over, and now you can live yours," Gohan beamed at him.  "You can do what YOU want!  " 

Piccolo laughed softly, and the sound startled Gohan.  "Are you sure you're five years old, kid?  Sometimes you speak like you're older."  

Gohan seemed to swell under the praise.  "Thank you, sir."  

When the sun began to set, Piccolo stood up, but Gohan tugged on his pant leg.  "Not yet?  Please?  I wanna' stay for a little bit.  I know we'll have to train twice as much tomorrow to make up for today, so can we wait some more?"   

"I suppose so," Piccolo grumbled.  

"Yay!  " Gohan lay down, resting his head on Piccolo's leg.  He glanced up at Piccolo, smiling at him upside down.  "This was the best birthday ever, Mister Piccolo."  

"Good.  That means you'll be ready to work tomorrow with no complaining, right?"   

"You're funny," Gohan chuckled, then he yawned.  

Piccolo shot him a glare.  "Don't fall asleep now," he warned, "You're the one who wanted to stay."  

"I won't.  I'm just resting . . .  my . . .  ey--" Gohan's head rolled, and he began snoring softly.  

Piccolo snorted, and he picked Gohan up, cradling him in his arms as he took to the air again.  "Silly species, children are," Piccolo felt a grin touch his features.  "I don't know why I put up with them."  

As he flew back to their training area in the mountains, Piccolo felt a strange sensation -- like the emptiness inside him had been filled.  The part of him that formerly housed his obsession with Son's demise was now occupied by this odd thing called 'friendship'. 

It was a more than even trade.  

****** 


End file.
